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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065070">Number Fifty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen'>MDJensen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hawaii Five-0 (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort Food, Cuddles, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Therapy, one percent hurt ninety-nine percent comfort, team BBQ</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:55:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's given an assignment to write a list of things that make him happy; Danny gets his hands on it. Things go from there.</p><p>Set season 8, after the stress management coach episode, though that's not super relevant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Number Fifty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my 50th Five-0 fic so... felt like I needed to do something a little numerical for it. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the things that Danny’s good, bad, or mediocre at, one thing he’s very good at is expressions. He could catalogue hundreds of Steve’s, and of his children’s. For example, Grace has this very specific one, only made when she’s doing her chemistry homework: puzzled but also determined, and taking it very, very seriously.</p><p>It’s the exact expression that Steve’s got on now.</p><p>Steve, who is over twenty years out of high school, and presumably will never have to balance equations again.</p><p>“What, uh. What are you fighting with?”</p><p>Whatever Steve’s working on is on the computer; so Danny, from his place on Steve’s office couch, can’t see at all.</p><p>“Homework.”</p><p>Okay, well the face makes perfect sense, then. But—</p><p>“Homework?”</p><p>“For my shr— my therapist.” Steve sighs. Ah. Danny still remembers fighting with Steve to do their joint counseling homework; it was nearly impossible, and though Steve’s gotten a lot better about that kind of thing in recent years, he’s still not <em>great</em> at it. Feelings and vulnerability and whatnot.</p><p>“What’s your assignment?”</p><p>“I’m supposed to write a list of ten things that make me happy. Like, no matter what, no matter the circumstances, what are ten things I can hold onto.”</p><p>“Like, raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens? That kind of thing?”</p><p>Steve just grunts in affirmation.</p><p>Suddenly it’s not so funny anymore, and Danny’s insides pinch. Jeez, ten things. Is it really that hard?</p><p>“Need help?”</p><p>Steve shrugs.</p><p>“Well, can I at least see what you’ve got so far?”</p><p>“I guess,” Steve mutters, rubbing at his forehead as he rolls his chair away to make room. Danny gets up and goes to lean over his shoulder—</p><p>And laughs. Out loud, before he can stop himself, and Steve’s face tightens.</p><p>“Hey, no, I’m not laughing at what you wrote,” Danny promises, patting Steve on the shoulder. “I’m laughing ‘cause, I thought you were having trouble getting to ten.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“I thought you were having trouble thinking of enough! Not narrowing it down.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Danny tries not to laugh anymore, though he still feels like it, out of sheer relief. Steve’s got dozens of things on the list. <em>Dozens</em>! And in fact he’s got them numbered in the word document, so Danny peeks at the end for the exact amount.</p><p>Forty-one. Steve has made a list of 41 things that make him happy, no matter what.</p><p>“You are the most interesting damn combination. You know that? You will break any rule there is. You will smash them. Sometimes. Then sometimes you are the most pedantic sonuvabitch.”</p><p>“Pedantic?”</p><p>“I don’t think he’ll mind if you go over,” Danny clarifies. “I don’t think there’s a regulation against having too many things that make you happy.”</p><p>“Some of them are— some of them are—” Steve clears his throat. “I don’t know if some of them count.”</p><p>“Why would they not count?”</p><p>Steve says nothing.</p><p>“I mean, okay, maybe if you wrote <em>breaking and entering</em> or <em>grenades</em> or something, okay, maybe you should not include those—”</p><p>“I didn’t. You read it.”</p><p>“No, I glanced at it, to see how many things you had.”</p><p>“Good,” Steve huffs, and turns the monitor away.</p><p>“Oh, I’m not actually allowed to read it, now?”</p><p>“It’s personal.”</p><p>“It’s personal? Liking things is personal? I caught my name in there, by the way.” That just makes Steve grumble again; so Danny drops it, and goes back to the couch. “Okay. Whatever. Can we go get a drink? Please? Or do you need to sit here and narrow this down to your top ten?”</p><p>No reply.</p><p>“If it’s bothering you to have forty-one,” Danny suggests, forcing himself to sound a bit milder than normal, “you could always aim for fifty? Fifty’s a nice number.”</p><p>Steve’s fighting a smile now; and he’s losing. “Five-oh,” he mutters, under his breath.</p><p>“Aim for fifty, huh?” Danny rises. “When’s this due?”</p><p>“Tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Okay. You got ten minutes to work on it now, then we’re getting a drink. If you’re still missing a few, you can sleep on it. Add ‘em in the morning.”</p><p>“Already took off, like, five,” Steve mutters; he taps at his keyboard, presumably un-deleting them.</p><p>“Lemon squeezy, then,” Danny remarks, and leaves the guy alone to finish up.</p><p>*</p><p>They get a drink. They don’t talk about the list. Danny’s not even sure if Steve finishes it, because the next morning they catch a case quite literally before sunrise.</p><p>It’s a rough one. In the end, Steve doesn’t even make his appointment that night.</p><p>None of them make any appointments at all, for another few days. Then that case segues directly into another, which hits even harder and drags on even longer. And Steve, in his stoic Steve-y way, is taking it worst of all.</p><p>It’s nothing life-altering. But, adding a crappy week onto the crappy few years that Steve has had lately— it just sucks.</p><p>And frankly Danny’s not really sure how to help.</p><p>Only— only he knows where to look for ideas. There is, literally, a set of instructions for cheering Steve up, saved on a computer that he knows the damn password to.</p><p>Invasion of privacy? Yeah, probably. Worth it?</p><p>Danny thinks <em>yes</em> to that, too.</p><p>*</p><p>It’s honestly the easiest thing in the world, to beat everyone in one morning and email himself a copy of the list. And, since there’s still no one around as he settles at his own computer, Danny decides to go ahead and read the thing now.</p><p>So he does.</p><p>And after, for a solid few minutes, Danny sits absolutely <em>frozen</em>. Can’t even reach up to rub his prickling eyes. Just— fuck Steve. Seriously just fuck him. How is it possible for anybody with a body count like his to be so— so— <em>adorable</em>?</p><p>He reads the list again.</p><p>It’s Friday morning. He’s got the weekend free; and so, to the best of his knowledge, does Steve.</p><p>So Danny plots. And plots, and plots, all the way up until footsteps inform him that he’s not alone in the office, anymore. Then he invites himself onto Steve’s couch, again, and announces without preamble, “I read your list.”</p><p>“So you could make fun of me some more?” Steve looks too tired even to properly argue.</p><p>“I told you, I wasn’t making fun of you in the first place.”</p><p>Steve’s expression says he’s unconvinced, and maybe sulking a little. “Yeah. I believe that for a second. Get it over with, okay.”</p><p>“Get what over with?”</p><p>“Pick one and make fun of me for it.”</p><p>“I swear on my fucking grave,” Danny growls, “I only laughed at maybe three of them. Maybe four.”</p><p>Steve’s actually kind of flushing now.</p><p>“You want me to? You’re expecting me to. Fine, I will admit, I laughed at lizards. Okay? I laughed at lizards.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“It is, objectively, kind of funny that lizards make you happy.”</p><p>“Not everybody goes out of their way to be miserable,” Steve mutters (though at the moment his expression is downright sour).</p><p>“Why’re you taking this personally?”</p><p>“Why are you making fun of me for something personal?”</p><p>“It’s not personal! That one is not personal!” Steve just snorts, and Danny sighs. “Look. If it was a list of, like, your fifty favorite state secrets, or top fifty phobias your enemies could use against you— that’d be different. And let’s be honest. I knew most of it, anyway.”</p><p>“Then why’d you bother?”</p><p>“Because I didn’t know all of it. And I didn’t know— the order that you thought of things in. Which is also telling. So, anyway. It’s good information to have.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you’re stressed!” Danny snaps. “I mean. You’re always stressed, but. And I know, I know, we talked about this. And you say you’re taking your health seriously, and I believe you. At least I believe you more than I did before. But you still need— you need something. Besides your daily freaking triathlons. The restaurant, I think that was an outlet, y’know? But now you don’t got that no more. To help you. To relax you.”</p><p>“The restaurant was <em>not</em> relaxing,” Steve scoffs. But he’s looking less on the defensive now, which has got to be a good sign. Danny leans forward.</p><p>“I looked at the list because, we going to have a really, really, really good weekend. We are going to fit ten— a minimum of ten, but hopefully more— of those things, into this weekend. And maybe it’s not gonna fix everything that needs fixing, but we’re gonna enjoy it anyway. So,” Danny says again, looking at his feet. “That’s why I looked. Babe. <em>Hey</em>. I did not laugh at any of the ones at the end there. I <em>didn’t</em>. I laughed at lizards, and fish, and maybe one or two of the food ones, I don’t remember. But I didn’t laugh at the ones that you’re worried I laughed at.</p><p>“So, buckle up, huh?” Danny adds; he’s smiling now, simply because Steve is. “Put the phone on silent. We’re gonna have a really, really good weekend. Now, excuse me, because I’m going to go prepare.”</p><p>*</p><p>The preparations, actually, aren’t that extensive. Mostly just text messages to send and groceries to buy, which Danny does that night, smiling down the aisles even as he drops fifty extra bucks at the supermarket.</p><p>At home he doesn’t even bother unpacking. Just shoves the still-bagged supplies in the fridge, for easy transport to Steve’s in the morning.</p><p>The morning comes. Danny skips the shower and dresses in beach clothes; grabs the stuff from the kitchen and heads over to Steve’s.</p><p>He finds the guy unloading the dishwasher, Eddie on his heels. Steve smiles, looking like maybe he actually slept well last night, which, <em>perfect</em>. Perfect start to their weekend. “What’s the plan?” he prompts, as Danny shoves the groceries into Steve’s fridge.</p><p>“The <em>plan</em>? Don’t think of this like a mission, please. Look at it like a scavenger hunt, huh? Of happy things. Minimum is ten. Here’s me, here’s the dog, that’s two things already. Today we’re going surfing, then we’ll hit up Kamekona’s for lunch. Vodka penne for dinner, lemon bars for dessert. That’s six,” Danny adds, holding up 5 + 1 fingers to illustrate. “Tomorrow morning we’re having pancakes and coffee and watching the sunrise. Then later the whole team’s coming over for a cookout. That’s— okay, we’re past ten things already, ‘cause some of those count double.”</p><p>Steve’s done with the dishwasher by now. He crosses his arm and leans back against the countertop, with a small but honest smile on his face. “We doin’ anything you wanna do?”</p><p>“Frightening as this is, Steven,” Danny sighs, “we enjoy some of the same things. Not <em>all</em> of the same things. But. The overlap between our lists is— appreciable.”</p><p>Steve’s smile swells up to a grin.</p><p>So they head out, and surf. They surf a long damn time, then refuel with fried shrimp; then they get some shave ice for good measure and walk the downtown area for a while. And okay, it’s not <em>calm</em>— it’s Honolulu. But it’s relaxing in a way Danny feels as a stillness deep in his belly, a way that he sees in the slackness of the worry lines around Steve’s eyes.</p><p>Back home, Danny busies himself in the kitchen. Sets the vodka sauce to cook on the stove, then makes the lemon bars and the cookie dough (which he sticks in the fridge to chill until tomorrow). Everything from scratch, and smelling delicious, in his very humble opinion.</p><p>Meanwhile, in an unexpected and nearly unprecedented move, Steve has stretched out on the couch and is taking an afternoon nap. Eddie, on the floor beside him, is doing the same. Once the lemon bars are out, Danny contemplates turning the stove off and joining them; but his desire for the perfect sauce overrides his desire for sleep. Instead he has a beer and enjoys the quiet. Keeps stirring the pot, peeking into the living room now and then to check if Steve is still sleeping peacefully.</p><p>When Steve wakes, they settle down for dinner. Steve opens a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that pairs perfectly with the pasta— seems restauranteering stuck with him, at least a bit— and they eat, and drink, and prattle on about nothing in particular.</p><p>Afterwards, they get the dishwasher going. Take the lemon bars and the last of the wine into the living room, and make themselves comfortable on the couch.</p><p>And for the first time, Danny finds himself— nervous. Up until now, this might have just been a pleasant Saturday. (Okay, Steve might not normally consent to sweets after lunch <em>and</em> after dinner; but apart from that it’s been par for the course.)</p><p>But it’s not a normal Saturday. Steve needs something more than normal, something better than normal, so when dessert’s done Danny tugs the afghan off the back of the couch and waves the guy over.</p><p>“C’mere. C’mon.”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“You gonna pretend I didn’t see what I saw? <em>Being under the same blanket as somebody else</em>,” Danny quotes. “Item twenty-nine. <em>Blankets</em> was also its own item, if I recall correctly. I’m not teasing! I have already fucking told you which things on the list you deserve to be teased for.”</p><p>Steve’s ears are bright pink. There’s suddenly a whole lot of lint on his shirt that needs picking.</p><p>“It’s the twenty-first century,” Danny continues. “Everybody’s bubbles are too big for their own good. C’mere. Come <em>here</em>.”</p><p>Another piece of lint is plucked, and flicked invisibly onto the floor for good measure. “Could you,” Steve mutters, “come here?”</p><p>For half a second Danny wants to cry, for too many reasons to count. Instead he shuts up and moves. Gets close enough to share the blanket, then a tiny bit closer than that.</p><p>But it’s Steve who tugs him all the way. Wraps both arms around Danny’s waist, and clings until Danny finds himself physically forced to lie back against Steve’s chest.</p><p>Not that he minds.</p><p>“See? I knew. I knew the blanket thing was code for cuddling,” Danny mutters, as he draws the afghan over their laps. Steve says nothing, just rests his chin on Danny’s shoulder and sighs softly. “Okay. That was a teeny, tiny bit of teasing. But this’s good. I’m good like this, huh?” He pats Steve’s knee, and shifts until he’s perfectly cradled between his arm and his chest. “You could close your eyes, if you wanted.”</p><p>But Steve already has.</p><p>*</p><p>Too bad a stiff back isn’t on Steve’s list, because they end up sleeping the night on the couch. Danny wakes once, just long enough to notice that he isn’t in bed. But Steve’s warm; and Danny might not feel completely comfortable, but he feels completely safe, and that’s good enough.</p><p>Still he aches a bit, in the morning. And the situation isn’t helped by how fucking early they get up— early for a weekday, let alone a weekend— just to watch the damn sunrise.</p><p>Okay, it’s kind of worth it, though. They take their coffee outside, into the cool, dark stillness, and sit in their chairs as the sky slowly brightens. And maybe Oahu herself knows what they’re up to, because as far as sunrises go, it’s a damn good one.</p><p>Back inside Steve makes the pancakes. Danny thinks about arguing, but doesn’t; instead he eats a full stack then catches a little extra sleep while Steve bops around being way too productive for a Sunday.</p><p>Then Steve wants to watch the morning news. This segues quite naturally into another round of being under the same blanket— at least until Steve realizes they haven’t started marinating the steaks.</p><p>Then they’re both on their feet and being (vaguely) productive again. Steve handles the grilling preparations while Danny bakes the cookies, and time passes quietly and easily between them.</p><p>In the early afternoon, the others start arriving. Danny hugs everyone hello, which gets him a weird look or two but sets the stage for everyone hugging Steve as well.</p><p>They migrate naturally out to the beach. Junior helps Steve grill, Tani splashes with Eddie in the water, and the rest of them start tossing around a football that somebody brought out. Once Eric arrives with his cousins, there’s really nothing missing. Charlie starts making sandcastles and Grace starts taking pictures and maybe this is Steve’s weekend, but like Danny’d said, they want mostly the same things when it comes down to it. Family, friends, food. Safety, <em>comfort</em>.</p><p>After the steaks (and burgers and hot dogs) are gone— and after a necessary period for digestion— Steve announces that there are cookies too. He heads inside to get them. A few minutes pass; Danny doesn’t think much of it. But then a couple more pass, and Danny makes a crack about Steve’s attention span and excuses himself to go offer help.</p><p>He finds the guy in the kitchen. He’s right next to the cookies, in fact, but making no moves to pick them up; instead he’s staring in silence out the window, to the beach. His expression is soft, his eyes swimming.</p><p>“You good?” Danny prompts; it makes Steve laugh, which makes Danny laugh too. He goes over, and they each get an arm around the other’s shoulders.</p><p>“I’m good,” Steve murmurs, and sniffles. “<em>You</em> good?”</p><p>Danny laughs some more, found out. The urge to cry had hit him again, the instant he’d seen Steve’s tears; this time he hadn’t fought it. He wipes his eyes with his free hand as he contemplates his answer.</p><p>“I worry about you,” Danny says, finally.</p><p>“I know. And I— hate to make you. But. I can’t say I hate being worried about?”</p><p>“I get it.”</p><p>“For the record, I liked this a lot more than the thing with the stress consultant.”</p><p>“Yeah? It was a lot cheaper, too.”</p><p>More laughter, more sniffles: both of these mostly from Steve, now. Danny rubs his back while the guy takes a few slow breaths, then dries the tears on the inside of his collar.</p><p>“Thirty-seven, by the way,” he says, when he’s done.</p><p>“I don’t remember which one that is.”</p><p>“Not number thirty-seven. Thirty-seven out of fifty.” Danny glances upwards, to see Steve smiling contentedly out of the window. “Interpreting loosely— and I’m allowed to, because it’s my list— we ticked off thirty-seven out of fifty things this weekend.”</p><p>“Well, fuck,” Danny whispers. “What’d we miss?”</p><p>“Um. Paddle boarding? That’s one. I don’t really remember. I was focusing more on the ones we did check off.”</p><p>It’s a kind of an overwhelming statement. Danny takes his arm back, and hugs himself around the waist while he works through it. “Lizards,” he mutters, eventually.</p><p>“That’s true. I did not see a lizard this weekend.”</p><p>“Well, I mean, still in this jungle, so. Lil’ one might show up in your shower tonight, who knows.”</p><p>Steve gives a soft chuckle, and swipes at his eyes again before speaking. “Danny—”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Well, can I say it anyway?” Steve laughs. Wraps Danny up in an absurdly big bear hug, so tightly that he can barely lift his arms to hug back. “I love you, bro,” Steve murmurs. “I’m glad you hacked my computer for this.”</p><p>“B,” Danny mutters, “it’s not hacking if you know the password.” He finally manages to get his arms properly around Steve’s middle; it makes Steve hug him even harder, which doesn’t seem like it should have been possible. “And A, I love you too.”</p><p>He feels it against the length of his body, as Steve gives a gentle sigh.</p><p>“You good to go back out? Or do you need a minute—?”</p><p>“—need a minute,” Steve grunts, their words overlapping. He’s still clinging like a little kid, so honestly, Danny needn’t’ve asked. It’s kind of nice, though, to hear <em>Steven J. McGarrett</em> acknowledging his own emotions. Even asking someone else to consider them.</p><p>“Take your time, babe,” Danny whispers, giving Steve’s back another quick scratch. “You sure you’re all right?”</p><p>“Danny, I’m beyond all right. Take a break from the worrying, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Just for a minute.”</p><p>“Okay,” Danny says again, a little louder. “Just makin’ sure.”</p><p>Outside he can hear conversations and laughter, and the occasional bark; but it’s quiet in the kitchen. Steve’s actively nuzzling now: rubbing his brow back and forth across Danny’s shoulder the way Grace used to do with her favorite stuffed animals.</p><p>“I was wrong,” he mutters, at some point.</p><p>“You were wrong?”</p><p>“’s thirty-eight.”</p><p>“You kidding me? I absolutely hugged you yesterday.”</p><p>“Nn,” Steve grunts, and Danny can practically feel the heat of him blushing again. He mashes his face even closer, until his voice is so muffled Danny can hardly make it out. “I just— y’know. I feel better than I used to.” He snuffles, then turns his face to the side so that Danny can suddenly hear him clearly. “Number fifty. I feel better than I used to.”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>50 Things that Make Me Happy (no matter what)</em>
</p><p>1. <em>Time with Danny<br/>
2. Time with the kids<br/>
3. Time with Junior<br/>
4. When the whole team is together &amp; safe<br/>
5. Time with Eddie<br/>
6. Surfing<br/>
7. Swimming<br/>
8. Being in the water at all<br/>
9. Paddle boarding<br/>
10. Fish<br/>
11. Lizards<br/>
12. Trees<br/>
13. Drinking coffee<br/>
14. Smell of coffee<br/>
15. Smell of bleach or chlorine<br/>
16. Smell of hot asphalt<br/>
17. Smell of the air in the mountains<br/>
18. Staining wood<br/>
19. Building things<br/>
20. Fixing things<br/>
21. Hugs<br/>
22. Hugs from Danny<br/>
23. Hugs from Jerry<br/>
24. Hugs from Lou<br/>
25. Hugs when you haven’t had one in a while<br/>
26. Soft shirts and hoodies<br/>
27. Blankets<br/>
28. Being under a lot of blankets when it’s cold<br/>
29. Being under the same blanket with someone else<br/>
30. Taking a nap with someone else<br/>
31. Feeling warm when you’ve been cold<br/>
32. Cooking on the grill<br/>
33. Really good steak<br/>
34. Danny’s vodka penne<br/>
35. Danny’s matzo ball soup<br/>
36. Pancakes<br/>
37. Shave ice<br/>
38. Kamekona’s shrimp<br/>
39. Frozen pep. patties<br/>
40. Lemon bars<br/>
41. Danny’s cookies<br/>
42. Sunsets<br/>
43. Sunrises<br/>
44. Phone calls from Mary (esp when she calls first)<br/>
45. Phone calls from Kono or CHK (esp when they call first)<br/>
46. The moment you remember that people think about you when you’re not there<br/>
47. The feeling when somebody remembers something small about you<br/>
48. The feeling when you just want to cry and somebody sits with you and lets you<br/>
49. The feeling when you finally cry and everything seems less crappy afterwards<br/>
50. When you realize you feel better than you used to</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Where's Lynn? Doesn't Junior live there already?" Listen... I asked myself these same questions, and the answer was, meh. :D Hope you still enjoyed the comfort and cuddles.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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